


Our Lives Aren’t Chalked Out (But We’ll Pencil It In, and See Where We Go From There)

by yozra



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Could be read as both romantic and platonic, Current Manga Spoilers, Drawings, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Kuroo's wary of meeting his soulmate, but realises they may have more things in common than he's come to believe.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	Our Lives Aren’t Chalked Out (But We’ll Pencil It In, and See Where We Go From There)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceruleanhail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanhail/gifts).



> Thank you for suggesting this pairing and for trusting me with the story - and with Kita! I hope you enjoy their dynamics :3
> 
> Please also check out this [adorable artwork](https://twitter.com/megaluhdon/status/1346062300596240385?s=21) by megaluhdon which now accompanies the story!

It happened to everyone when they least expected it, as the conscious wobbled along the fine line between mindfulness and mindlessness.  
  
It had happened to Kuroo at the end of his second year of high school, writing on the blackboard fixed to his bedroom wall.  
  
He’d had it set up since he was a kid, shifting it higher with his height, and it was big enough for him to scribble equations like he was an expert scientist attempting to discover the single formula that would solve the unsolved problem – why soulmates existed. No amount of letters or characters or numbers could explain the mystery surrounding something so abstract, though there lay hope in the language known as asemic, which everyone discovered during the first few years of childhood, before going to school and being taught the real way to write—  
  
(And there were times he would wonder if this had been a step forward to or ten back from finding the true answer. Not that it mattered, because he grew more interested in how chemistry functioned in relation to the physical body than invisible attraction.)  
  
Kuroo had a habit of doodling when he was stuck. Geometric shapes if he was working on his maths, and if science, chemical compositions that were an obscured hybrid of elements.  
  
If he was really stuck, he’d draw actual pictures.  
  
He liked to draw himself as a cat, naturally, being a student of Nekoma, but he’d done so even before entering high school, in memory of the black cat that had been born with him, that used to sit upright on his forearm until the day it disappeared.  
  
He drew his entire team as cats; blobs fat and slim with two triangles at the top. He drew his bird friends as more blobs – ovals for the owls and circles for the crows, with more triangles for wings and beaks. The eyes especially, despite being simple dots and lines, were eerily reflective of each one’s personality, and when he stared too long, they seemed to stare back like they wanted to speak—  
  
At which point, he’d wipe the board clear before getting sucked in, and took it as a sign to get back on track with his homework.  
  
He came to the conclusion that it had happened because of the season, that bisector somewhere between spring and summer, air wet with rain and wet with humidity, hair curling more explosively, lungs straining from lack of oxygen and weight of extra hydrogen, thought-drip after thought-drip saturating his mind as numbers and letters began to lose meaning…  
  
He’d snapped out of his trance and reached for the eraser kept at the end of the bottom ledge, and realised this set of blobs and triangles wasn’t like the ones he was used to seeing.  
  
A big fat blob with two pointed triangles at the top, and an upside-down triangle just above the eyes as a fringe. He would’ve mistaken it for a fat (or just fluffy?) cat if it hadn’t been for the tail which looked like it couldn’t make up its mind between an oval and triangle and settling for somewhere between the two.  
  
“A fox…?”  
  
Then, the eyes. They should have been sleepy with the way he drew them – two straight lines with half ovals – if they didn’t look so… judging. Not Kenma judging, with his shake of the head and ‘what are you doing, Kuro’. More along the lines of ‘I’m watching, so do things properly without cutting corners’ judging. Like the one his Granddad used to give when, as a kid, Kuroo had answered yes to questions such as ‘did you put your kit into the laundry basket’.  
  
(He had, except instead of pulling them out of his bag to pile them in one by one, making sure nothing was turned inside out, he’d dumped his bag in there.)  
  
The eyes blinked.  
  
“Well… shit.”  
  
The eyes blinked again, and this time the stare resembled something that might accompany—  
  
_Swearin’ at strangers ain’t good manners.  
_  
(Kuroo didn’t know why he made the fox speak in a soft Kansai dialect; he just knew it suited him.)  
  
The reason why Kuroo – standing in the middle of the corridor, blocking (in the wrong way) bustling players and coaches and press and members of staff – recalled the day his soulmark came to life was because he noticed two players at the far end of the corridor standing in front of the double doors.  
  
Inarizaki’s ace—  
  
—and his captain.  
  
Seeing Kita forced him to a stop – physically at least, while mentally he carried on down memory lane – until a bump on his shoulder jolted him back and he shuffled closer to the wall, conveniently behind a small huddle wearing a uniform he couldn’t instantly recognise.  
  
Everyone who owned an animated soulmark intuitively knew their soulmate when they met. Even so, the mind wanted proof, and it was easier to surrender to the demand when soulmarks were portable and could be confirmed on the spot; Kuroo appreciated the irony that he was forced to trust his senses when his interests leaned to subjects that required proof.  
  
Those eyes, though. He didn’t need to place them alongside the pair he already knew to know they were one and the same—  
  
The two Inarizaki players turned their backs to him and walked on through the double doors.  
  
So he turned his back to them as well and went in search of his team.

That night, battered and defeated, Kuroo returned to his bedroom and switched on the light, immediately meeting the chalky gaze. He’d been right, those eyes matched the pair belonging to the Inarizaki captain; he hadn’t noticed them while the ball had been in play during the Inarizaki vs. Karasuno match, his focus tossed around from player to player, analysing tactics used by both sides, and it was in the pauses as players switched or took time out that he could stop to focus solely on the captain.  
  
Unlike the human, the fox stared directly at him, blinking purposefully slow.  
  
“It wasn’t the right time,” Kuroo said out loud, too sharp considering how ready he was to collapse into sleep. “And you know it.”  
  
_If you say so._  
  
The fox curled up at the bottom of its black box home, closed its eyes and tucked its head behind its tail.

* *

Generally, people were careful about where they drew.  
  
Once a person drew their soulmate’s animal (always an animal), they lived on the surface where they were drawn. Sometimes this was notable enough to be newsworthy, the most recent case being a person who’d graffitied an eagle on an apartment building where it then kept swooping across the four sides. The story had been covered until a few days later when the original owner appeared red-faced to frantically erase the drawing.  
  
(A soulmark was born on a random part of their owner’s body, unanimated but growing until they disappeared when the owner’s soulmate drew and animated their form into their new background, but their new home was also temporary and they moved again for the last time when they were erased by their original owner’s hand, onto their permanent home, unanimated on the owner’s soulmate. It was a solemn start to a commemorative relationship, but the world was what it was.)  
  
Kuroo often wondered where his cat lived now.  
  
His cat had been a sly creature of the shadows with a fringe that fell over his right eye, wearing a smirk only truly understood by him; to anyone else, his cat looked like it had a laid a trap ready for an unsuspecting person.  
  
He knew it had left him sometime overnight between Saturday and Sunday, he’d checked his arm on Saturday evening as he was changing out of his uniform after a day packed with friendly games, a day which should have left him ecstatic after winning all his matches, but had been tainted by him brooding over his move the following weekend. On Sunday morning, when squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush, he felt something weirdly empty about the scene, and after glancing around the sink and checking behind bottles, he noticed his left arm was blank.  
  
(Despite the initial shock of losing a lifelong friend, life had offered him a replacement right after he moved. It took time for Kuroo to accept this apology gift, though reflecting on it now, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.)  
  
This period of living with an animated drawing, Kuroo never really _got_ it. Soulmarks never spoke, just moved around minding their own business, maybe listening (maybe not) to their artist’s talk, any insight into their thoughts reflected only in their eyes and behaviour. They were an independent entity and didn’t act as messenger to their owners, had no telepathic link, no (known) methods of communicating, and considering soulmates were a part of daily life, they almost seemed… pointless. Almost, because deep down Kuroo knew there had to be a reason, and he sometimes tried to write a formula in asemic for that, too, lines curling wrong halfway and tangling until the swoops turned into harsh jagged lines negating his attempt, and he’d wipe it out of existence.  
  
Kuroo must have been watching the fox for about ten minutes now, trotting about the space in circles as it usually did this time of the evening, its routine exercise. He was about to announce his leave, to attend the pre-opening celebration of Onigiri Miya (Tokyo branch), when the fox slowed to a halt at the centre of the board and sat facing him.  
  
Did the fox know where he was heading, and how he was feeling? The fox always seemed to make a point of sitting quietly, waiting for Kuroo’s words without so much as a twitch of his ears or tail.  
  
“I’ll be back before curfew,” Kuroo joked, as he usually did when he had plans to go out.  
  
(One time when he was a student, he’d returned home in the morning, smashed and falling to crash onto the bed, missing it completely to crash onto the floor and pass out; he’d woken to his pulse drumming against his skull and looked up to find the fox staring down with an expression that said—  
  
_At least you’re aware of your limit now.  
  
_Whenever he found himself growing louder and queasier while out drinking, that quiet glare popped into his head and never failed to sober him up, to call it quits for the night by promptly taking the train home.)  
  
The fox’s look was meaningful. Kuroo pretended not to notice.  
  
The scent of cypress from the brand new interior wafted to greet Kuroo first when he pushed aside the navy curtain, followed immediately by Bokuto who gave him a bear hug that threatened to bend his bones out of shape. Akaashi was close behind, his significant other, an onigiri hunter and number-one customer, having burnt through at least twenty point cards since Onigiri Miya first opened (and this was _before_ the Tokyo opening; Kuroo couldn’t wait to see how many he’d rack up in the next year).  
  
Kuroo then went around greeting the Black Jackals – Sakusa and Hinata whom he knew already, along with the rest of the team he’d slowly come to know; obviously Atsumu who could be seen still ribbing Osamu for being an onigiri store owner, though everyone noticed the proud grin flashing across his face as he glanced over at his twin when he thought no one was looking.  
  
And then Kuroo went on introducing himself to Osamu’s teammates from Inarizaki, a couple recognisable by name and face – Suna and Ojiro – others only by face which may or may not have matched the ones in his blurred memories.  
  
And among them, the ex-captain and rice provider for the onigiri—  
  
Kita Shinsuke.  
  
Kuroo didn’t feel the need to strategically place himself behind people, or curl his back any more than his usual slouch, or drag his feet as he approached the counter where Kita sat, alone, picking up a yet-to-be-eaten onigiri, practically inviting someone to sit next to him.  
  
Putting on his signature grin, Kuroo slinked over to rest his hands on the back of the empty seat left of Kita, and – when Kita turned his head to see who was coming up beside him – gave a quick bow of his head.  
  
“Nice to speak properly with the man behind the rice. Love your work. Myaa-Sam’s got a lot to thank you for.”  
  
Kita’s stony expression (which Kuroo put down to a default expression after wavering between that and being annoyed at the interruption) didn’t twitch. “Rice by itself doesn’t make the onigiri.”  
  
“But it helps, right?” Kuroo nodded down at the chair. “Mind if I take a seat?”  
  
“Be my guest.”  
  
Kuroo slid in, his body turned to Kita and his shoulders curling deeper as he rested his elbow on the counter. “It’s a shame we never got to officially battle it out on court.” He held out his right hand. “Can I shake your hand? I’d like to know what I’d have been up against.”  
  
Kita put the onigiri back onto the plate, picking up the wet towel to wipe his fingers before rolling it neatly to return it beside his plate. “You wouldn’t have had anythin’ to be afraid of,” he said, and accepted the handshake.  
  
Not the firmest grip, but Kuroo was willing to bet Kita was stronger of the two, which was expected when his work involved so much manual labour. In some ways it was like shaking hands with Sawamura – Kuroo knew he had to be on guard, and his usual jokes wouldn’t pass.  
  
“I wouldn’t have been afraid,” Kuroo agreed as he let go, “but I’d have put up a solid guard.”  
  
Kita shifted, the light casting a shadow on his face that suggested good humour, and went to wipe his hands on the towel once more.  
  
“So Kita—”  
  
“Hey, hey, you’re finally talking!”  
  
A hand clapped Kuroo on the shoulder, slapping a few extra degrees of slouch into him; Kuroo replied by shoving an elbow into the ribs of the bundle of enthusiasm, in greeting but also as a warning not to say anything about Kita being his soulmate.  
  
“Kuroo’s real fussy about his food, and knows a lot about rice, too! What’s your favourite brand called again? Is it still the one from Miyagi? Admit it, you like that one ’cause it reminds you of Karasuno!”  
  
(So maybe Bokuto didn’t blurt out his secret, but neither did he make the situation any less awkward.)  
  
With a taught grin, Kuroo replied, “Thanks, Bo. I can always trust you to have my back.”  
  
Another clap on the shoulder, which he was better prepared to withstand. “No problem! Hey – is that Myaa-Sam handing out sukiyaki onigiri—?!”  
  
Having stripped Kuroo’s good first impressions, Bokuto bounded away.  
  
Kuroo turned back to Kita, his smile still pinned tightly into place. “In my most humble opinion, the brand I like goes best with fish because of the lightness – but I know high-quality rice when I taste it.”  
  
“There ain’t a need to defend yourself,” Kita said neutrally. “We’ve all got our favourites.”  
  
That made Kuroo relieved somewhat, and he pushed himself back into his seat, straightening his back a touch. “So tell me, Kita – what’s your take on the shift from rice to bread across the country’s breakfast tables?”  
  
Kita picked up his onigiri – rice mixed with what looked like miso; simple, yet flavourful. “That’s an interestin’ topic for an icebreaker.” He took a small bite and chewed slowly as he gazed into his meal, the only insight into his feelings being that he was turning the question thoughtfully over.  
  
Kuroo was used to inexpressive friends as much as he was expressive, the closest being Kenma and Akaashi, both containing their emotions within well-constructed walls; for Kenma, the walls around the hidden slits gradually cracked and crumbled with age, for Akaashi, the hammer wielded by Bokuto knocked them down.  
  
Kita on the other hand, it was like looking down at a vast paddy field of emotions cultivated neatly with care and open for viewing – at least from the distance; a person would have to pull on their boots and stick their feet into the mud to see if the water level was too low or the crops were being eaten by locusts.  
  
That was if the viewer didn’t get distracted by the wise farmer guarding the field, offering to listen to them and their inner child, occasionally interrupting the rambling outbursts by quietly planting a seed or two with his remarks until they left feeling satisfied from pouring out their thoughts, unaware of what would one day grow.  
  
In that sense, Kuroo felt they had something in common. Because he, too, was a wise man who offered kind words to the youth, and whose basic emotions were open for all to read, but those running deep could only be recognised by those who took the time to look.  
  
“I see why bread’s gainin’ popularity,” Kita finally spoke. “There’s a wider range of flavours an’ fillin’s, so it’s more appealin’ to the taste buds. Bread’s quick an’ easy to prepare in the mornin’s and make a good snack. You could even say bread’s novel – most people don’t try to bake themselves because of the time it takes.  
  
“But when people are feelin’ down, or alone, or at home plain hungry, their go-to food will be somethin’ warm and familiar… a bowl of rice with natto and pickles, rice swimmin’ in tea, rice wrapped in seaweed. And those meals are what’ll fuel them through the day or out of their rough patch, and that right there is enough.”  
  
Kuroo felt himself starting to melt at Kita’s sincerity. “That’s a touching speech.”  
  
“Just my ‘humble opinion’.” Kita turned to him. “What’s your take as someone who’s ‘real fussy’ about their food?”  
  
Kuroo shrugged, the harsh movement shaking his emotion from moved to nonchalant. “It’s not up to me to dictate the foods people enjoy. I just believe maintaining a good balance maintains a healthy body and mind.”  
  
“Then shouldn’t you be advisin’ your friends over there of that?”  
  
Kuroo glanced to where Kita nodded, at the table across the room – Bokuto was settling himself into the seat opposite Akaashi, putting down a plate with a small mound of sukiyaki onigiri next to one with an assorted mountain of onigiri, and Kuroo bet they all had different fillings.  
  
“You offend me, Kita, that you’d think I hadn’t thought about my friends’ welfares. In the case of those two though, they’re a lost cause.”  
  
Kuroo turned back to Kita—  
  
“…Is that a smile I see?”  
  
Kita continued to smile as he turned to face the counter. “Nothin’ like seein’ people heartily eat what you’ve spent months tendin’.”  
  
The softened look on Kita’s face relaxed Kuroo’s twisted nerves, and Kuroo thought now might be the time to ask the burning question that had been on the tip of his tongue—  
  
“Don’t tell me yer done eatin’ already.”  
  
The new harsher Kansai dialect shocked him out of the dreamlike state; he looked over his shoulder to find Osamu standing behind him.  
  
“I’m takin’ special orders for one night only, best take advantage of the offer. Anythin’ ya want.”  
  
“…In that case, grilled salted mackerel pike,” Kuroo said casually, throwing a challenging grin at the onigiri maker asking if he could fulfil the order for a non-standard filling. “Failing that, I’ll take salmon.”  
  
Osamu scoffed. “Ya think I didn’t think to ask for everyone’s favourite foods?” He walked around the counter, pulling out a bowl and setting it in front of Kuroo’s seat.  
  
Even if, while Osamu wandered away to grab the ingredients, Kuroo had plucked up the courage again to ask that all-important question, when he turned to Kita again, he found him already in conversation with Ojiro who’d sat on the other side.  
  
The question grew bitter the longer it was on his tongue, and he swallowed it down with his salty onigiri.

After entering his apartment, Kuroo headed straight into his bedroom where the blackboard hung directly opposite to the door, a beam of moonlight shining through the window a spotlight on the fox that turned him near invisible. It was only when Kuroo came up to stand directly in front that he could see it sitting upright – who knew for how long.  
  
“…Should I have said something?”  
  
After the interruption, luck hadn’t graced him with any more openings to speak privately with Kita. He could have created one, taking Kita aside or outside for a quiet word, but he drew it out, up to the point where Kita excused himself with Ojiro and Suna so they could to return to their hotel, which by then was too late.  
  
The fox stared at him – opened its mouth; for the briefest of moments, Kuroo had the wild idea the fox was going to impart actual words of wisdom—  
  
It yawned, long and wide, and closed his mouth again, its blinks quick to start and gradually slowing, weighed with weariness.  
  
“He didn’t say anything either,” Kuroo pointed out.  
  
The sleepy gaze didn’t accuse or ask.  
  
Kuroo picked up a broken piece of chalk – the length of his thumb dully pointed at one end – and did what he hadn’t in a while – wrote out a formula for soulmates in asemic, grinding his frustrations down into fine dust particles that sprinkled and settled ready to be swept away, the raps and scrapes in coded Morse hitting hard against his chest.  
  
Or maybe that was heartburn from eating too much onigiri.

* *

Kuroo had heard from Kenma—  
  
(—who’d been messaging Akaashi, who’d learnt from Bokuto, who’d pried the details from Atsumu, who’d tossed the casual comment—)  
  
—that Osamu was coming to Tokyo to visit a rice fair – with Kita.  
  
Kuroo hummed in feigned interest. Kenma sharpened his look into a glare. Kuroo raised an eyebrow and slapped on a wide grin. Kenma narrowed his eyes. Kuroo chuckled, each shake eroding the edges of his grin so when his humour eventually subsided, he was left with a weak smile. Kenma huffed a sigh through his nose and returned to his game. The rest of the smile caved, and Kuroo picked up his phone so he could pretend he wasn’t thinking about whether he would have a chance this time.  
  
Kuroo had then hinted to Kenma—  
  
(—who’d promptly messaged Akaashi, who’d efficiently organised with Bokuto, who’d relentlessly pestered Atsumu, who’d been worn down to grudgingly tell Osamu and therefore Kita—)  
  
—that they should meet up and go to the fair together.  
  
So they gathered outside of the forum entrance (minus Kenma, who’d conveniently scheduled a live streaming session for that particular time), to wander the fair in their group. It didn’t last long, members picked off one by one as they walked the aisles. Osamu was left behind once he started talking with a farmer who also owned an onigiri business. Atsumu was caught by a lady who recognised him, which quickly accumulated into a whole group of people swarming around him. When Kuroo looked around to see why Bokuto wasn’t gaining as much traction, he spotted him and Akaashi in the distance by the food stands—  
  
Leaving him to become Kita’s meek shadow, stopping now and then when Kita had quick chats with farmers who tugged his interest, around the huge convention space and back again outside for fresh air.  
  
Kuroo made a quick trip to the vending machines and returned holding out a bottle of green tea to Kita sitting waiting on a bench; he took it with thanks, and Kuroo sat down to crack open the canned coffee he’d chosen without thinking. Probably not the wisest decision when his senses were already hyper-focused on the slightest gesture, and the sweetened black liquid proved him right, kicking up the level an extra notch.  
  
“You go to these fairs often?” Kuroo asked, staring down at his drink.  
  
“I make a point of goin’ at least once a year. It’s good to talk with other folk sharin’ the same interests, exchangin’ information and the like.”  
  
“Think you’ll be standing there representing Hyogo one day?”  
  
He shot a side-glance in Kita’s direction, finding a small smile packed with a whole lot of heart.  
  
“It sure would be nice to be asked.”  
  
Despite the comfortable quiet settling as they sipped, Kuroo tightened the grip around his can and curled forward with each timed raise of his hand until he was resting his arms on knees.  
  
If they’d been sitting in front of the blackboard, he imagined the fox would be wearing a neutral expression that said:  
  
_You ain’t movin’ anywhere if you don’t start talkin’._  
  
“If you’re done here and not in a rush to go anywhere, do you want to make a quick stop at my place?”  
  
As if he needed two pairs of those judging eyes staring him down as he tried to fumble his way around their situation.  
  
He didn’t check in on Kita’s face, though the lack of response made him drain the rest of his drink in one, two – three, four, five miscalculated large gulps – and he regretted it, hand around the can already shaking—  
  
“Sure. If you’re offerin’.”

They made their way to Kuroo’s – two men, both seemingly young, staring ahead into space without so much as an exchange; onlookers would be hard-pressed to decide whether they were friends or strangers.  
  
“You’re goin’ to ruin your back slumpin’ like that.”  
  
While Kuroo generally believed he held himself more confidently as he grew older, his body betrayed him at times, especially during times when matters of the heart were involved, nostalgia digging up days long buried and reclaiming his old ways.  
  
“Trick of the eye,” Kuroo lazily cast off the caution. “Anyone’d look slumped next to a textbook example of the correct way to sit.”  
  
That was the first and last exchange on their journey.  
  
Kuroo led Kita to his apartment, silence replacing generic exchanges—  
  
“Come on in.”  
  
“Thank you for invitin’ me.”  
  
“I’m making tea – you want some?”  
  
“If you’re havin’ some yourself, it would be much appreciated.”  
  
“Take whatever comfortable seat of your choosing.”  
  
“Thank you kindly.”  
  
Kita took the cushion so he sat with his back to the television, folding his legs properly in _seiza_ , back straight and hands loosely placed on his lap.  
  
“Make yourself at home,” Kuroo called, though he knew Kita wouldn’t think of breaking his composure so soon.  
  
When Kuroo arrived to place the cups and teapot on the table and settle himself down on the nearest cushion, he noticed a notebook had been placed in front of Kita, lines parallel to the table’s edges. It reminded Kuroo of the one he owned way back in elementary school, except his had been black with the corners bent and crinkled from spilt water, not red and in near-pristine condition. Kita opened the book, slowly turning each page filled with surprisingly even-sized characters – stopped, and turned it around to push it in front of Kuroo.  
  
A black cat lying on its front with its tail swaying gently. It opened its visible eye, took in the sight of its original owner, and closed it again.  
  
“What are you doin’ provokin’ yourself?”  
  
Kuroo opened his mouth in defence – when he realised Kita was reprimanding the cat and he quickly closed his mouth, the line a little twisted as he tried to contain his snicker.  
  
The cat opened its eye again, shifted to stretch out arms and claws and give a defiant yawn, and then drew back to sit slumped.  
  
And shifted, as though it had second thoughts, pulling up a little straighter.  
  
Knowingly or not, Kita had trained the cat, and Kuroo wasn’t sure if it was amusing or was a foreshadowing of things to come.  
  
“I have mixed feelings about you reading my soulmark” – _reading me_ – “so accurately.”  
  
“Ain’t that the point?”  
  
Instead of answering, Kuroo pushed himself up and threw a thumb over the shoulder at the bedroom. “Why don’t you meet yours.”  
  
He led Kita into his bedroom (now a lot cleaner than it had been two days ago), the fox in its usual position. They came to stand before it, the stare fixed onto Kita deep and patient, and Kuroo flicked a glance at Kita, whose expression was a mirror reflection. It was almost as if they were reading each other’s minds.  
  
Kuroo returned his gaze back to the fox, and its eyes shifted a touch to show the focus was now on him.  
  
The first time Kuroo saw that gaze, he thought it judging.  
  
But he’d spent years watching and knew better than to label it as criticism. It was a look given out of compassion, when Kuroo wasn’t being honest with himself, or kind to himself, or neglected what was in his best interests – an uncomfortable reminder that he needed to re-evaluate because he was moving backwards instead of forwards, looking out instead of in.  
  
“They’re teachin’ us” – Kuroo turned to Kita – “to watch an’ learn our partners, catch the details in their behaviour. It’s what differentiates soulmates from every other relationship, makin’ us better equipped to take care of our partners. They also help us see what gaps need fillin’ in ourselves, and help us find and tend to the weakenin’ crops, as it were.”  
  
Back at the fox, it added—  
  
_We’re helpin’ you grow_.  
  
“I should’ve known you’d bring rice into it.” Kuroo nodded down at the open notebook in Kita’s hand, the cat now licking its paw in indifference, while ears pointed in their direction, listening. He wondered what the creature had offered to a man who kept a strict routine, and took time to act properly, in order. “What did this one teach you?”  
  
Glancing back at Kita, his smile was back, that one where he was reflecting on a piece of wisdom.  
  
“Now, tellin’ you that would be spoilin’ the fun.”  
  
Apparently Kita did have a sense of humour. Kuroo thought he might like it.  
  
“So.” Kuroo took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “We’re all here together, one big, shortlived, happy family. Are you ready to complete the process?”  
  
The final act. In Kuroo’s case the fox would appear on his left forearm. He wondered what posture it would take, though really, he already knew.  
  
After that, there was no true formula. Some soulmates remained friends. Some took it further. Some drifted in and out at key points throughout each other’s lives. Some initially kept in touch before fading, some never spoke to each other again until the end.  
  
“I said I’d be goin’ to Onigiri Miya’s, Osamu’s havin’ a gatherin’ – if you’re wantin’ to join. In the meantime” – Kita propped the open notebook on the blackboard’s ledge – “these two should at least become familiar with each other.”  
  
Kuroo could only describe the next scene as strange.  
  
The black cat turned its head to look up to where the fox was sitting, and the fox moved its eyes to glance down.  
  
But that shouldn’t be possible when they weren’t visible to each other…  
  
Kuroo shelved it as another mystery to be solved.  
  
“You’re a sly old fox, Kita, leaving your notebook here so you’ll have to come back. Next you’ll be saying we should follow their example and ‘become familiar with each other’ over drinks – no need to guess what you favour – and before I know it, you’ll be crashing here for the night to take the train back home tomorrow.” Shaking his head, Kuroo tutted. “An upstanding man like yourself should ask, don’t you think?”  
  
His crack at cracking Kita’s ever-neutral expression fell short.  
  
“Firstly, leavin’ important belongin’s at a safe place ain’t sly, it’s good sense.” Kita spoke his reasoning calmly, unaffected. “Secondly, you already did the askin’.”  
  
Kuroo quirked an eyebrow at him. “Care to highlight where in our conversation I asked?”  
  
Kita’s gaze travelled across his face, and then lower to his shoulders, down further at his hands, and back again to his eyes—  
  
“All of it.”  
  
…How did Kita know how to read him?  
  
But that hardly needed asking. Kita had spent over a decade learning to read his soulmark. It was unfair, really, Kita having twice as long to read the cat than Kuroo had to read the fox—  
  
(Or maybe there was a reason there too. Did that mean Kuroo was more complex as a character, or was Kita less observant than him? Kuroo flagged the question and bundled it with his expanding list.)  
  
With a snort, Kuroo said, “Fine, you’re right. But you’re catching me in my most delicate moment. From here on out it’s going to be just like that phrase – ‘the fox wets its tail’.”  
  
“What are you sayin’?”  
  
“It’s a mighty wide river you’ve started crossin’,” Kuroo playfully mimicked, “and you’ve only dipped yer paw in. How long’s it gonna be before ya start gettin’ tired and find yer tail droopin’ into the water?”  
  
His dialect wasn’t half bad, if he said so himself.  
  
Kita glanced at the notebook – Kuroo did the same, at the cat with its wide grin that reinforced his point—  
  
_Will you be able to read your partner half as well when I’m gone?_  
  
“That phrase may be about situations startin’ out easy and gradually growin’ hard, but it’s also about a kit who hasn’t developed ample strength an’ stamina to swim.”  
  
“Interesting… so what are _you_ saying? That you’ve built up the strength to carry you through to the end?”  
  
“No one’s got the strength to last a lifetime’s worth of wadin’. But I’ve got enough to keep both head an’ tail up an’ dry until I reach driftwood.”  
  
Kuroo grinned at the same time as Kita’s blank expression softened and the rigid line of his mouth relaxed to curl at the ends.  
  
“I’m starting to see the real reason for our match,” Kuroo said.  
  
“It ain’t ever random,” Kita affirmed.  
  
Kuroo didn’t believe in coincidences either, and he didn’t like to think he had no control over his own life, which left the option that somewhere at the beginning of the line they’d made this pact. Finding out what he’d hoped to get out of it was going to be very interesting indeed.  
  
But first—  
  
“You were saying something about heading to an onigiri store, but there’s still a pot of brewed-for-too-long tea left on the table. Would be a shame to let it go to waste.”  
  
“I was hopin’ you’d mention that.”  
  
“In that case – after you.”  
  
Kuroo followed Kita out of his bedroom and rested his hand on the door handle—  
  
He flashed a final glance at their soulmarks – a white fox and a black cat cautiously approaching the edge of the open notebook – and slowly, he closed the door.  
  



End file.
